


Not What I Had in Mind

by fhartz91



Series: Klaine Valentines Challenge 2018 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Heavy Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Kurt and Blaine meet, under rather unusual circumstances, while on vacation in the French Alps, but even Kurt gives Blaine a chance and they hit it off, will they be able to stay together? Or will something much bigger than either of them end up keeping them apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write. For the Klaine Valentines Challenge Day 1 'Lost In Your Eyes'. There's a heavy angst warning for this one, but I can't tell you why, so just a head's up. Please bear in mind that I am not responsible for catering to everyone's triggers. You guys know me by now. You know that I have a tendency towards twist endings. If you think that something may pop up that you can't handle, just don't read it. I put a heavy angst warning in the tags. That covers a lot of things. It actually should be enough. It's time for readers to start taking responsibility for the decisions they make. And if you disagree with me, then have the balls to tell me off anon.

_Confit de canard_

_Boeuf bourguignon_

_Tartiflette_

_Aligot_

_Pansette de Gerzat_

_Far Breton_

The order Kurt places has enough rendered pig fat and cream in each dish to give a full-grown water buffalo a heart attack. Normally Kurt would shy away from rich, calorie-laden foods, but when a once in a lifetime opportunity presents itself, you grab it with both hands and you don't let little things like waist lines and cholesterol levels get in your way.

You hold on tight and you don't let go.

This is a lesson Kurt has learned recently.

Usually he might be concerned with the people around him watching him and thinking he's a glutton, but right now he couldn't care less. He isn't going to allow anything or anybody to minimize his enjoyment of his first ever real vacation.

It has always been his dream to travel to Mont Blanc and stay at the magnificent Hotel Liberty in St. Gervais, to take his morning coffee on a patio with a view of the Alps at sunrise, to learn how to ski, to eat decadent meals prepared by world famous chefs, to stay in a hotel room larger than his apartment in New York, to live the life of a rich socialite … and he is, even though, in reality he's spending every cent he has - his entire life savings.

It would have been nice to have someone else to share this experience with, but love doesn't seem to be in the stars for Kurt Hummel.

Kurt opens the recent issue of  _Vogue Paris_  and starts to read the featured article about popular vacation locations to enjoy with children. The picture in the forefront is a young girl with long golden hair braided down her back. She's dressed in a stylish white blouse –the fabric light and flowing; the soft, ruffled collar falling loosely around her neck. She stands beneath a lacy white parasol that is shading her pale but freckled skin, and inquisitive blue eyes gaze at a point somewhere off camera. The girl looks strikingly like his mom from old pictures of her as a child that his dad once showed him. He can't stop looking at her, but he can't stand looking at her either. The image grabs at his heart and squeezes tight. He swallows hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and turns the page, scolding himself for being anything but blissfully happy.

That is the rule – to always be blissfully happy. Do not squander a second on any other lesser emotion.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time since he's arrived in France that he's broken that rule.

"Hello, darling. Have you been waiting for me long?"

A mysterious man in a black Armani suit sits in the seat beside him. He takes Kurt's hand and kisses it, gazing at him intently with unfamiliar hazel eyes.

Gorgeous hazel-gold eyes, Kurt has to admit, but Kurt still grabs his hand away, the pages of his magazine flipping on their own when he releases his grip.

"Excuse me?" Kurt stares at the man who seems to have mistaken him for someone else. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can." He pulls his chair closer to Kurt's, giving Kurt no means of escape other than to lean his body awkwardly away. "There's a man following me. He just walked in - short brown hair and brown eyes, wearing gray slacks and an aubergine shirt. Do you see him?"

Kurt rolls his eyes but looks over the stranger's shoulder, and indeed, there stands, at the entrance to the dining room, a man with brown hair and brown eyes wearing those exact same clothes.

"Why is he following you?" Kurt asks coolly, trying to return to his magazine.

"Because we hooked up last night, and now he thinks he owns me," the man whispers unapologetically. His candor startles Kurt, but he tries not to show it.

"How can  _I_  help?" Kurt asks, but his tone doesn't hide that he is thoroughly unconcerned with the man's dilemma as he turns to the next page in his magazine.

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

Kurt's eyes flick up to the man, this time not caring if he looks surprised or not.

"Absolutely not!" Kurt objects.

"Please?" the man pleads. "If I have to spend one more night pitying this guy, I'm going to throw myself off the mountain."

"Don't do that," Kurt says offhandedly. "That would be a waste of a fine suit."

The man sighs, and it tugs at Kurt’s heartstrings … but only a little. Kurt knows what it’s like to be hounded and harassed. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, especially not at this vacation paradise. Kurt peeks over his shoulder again at the supposed stalker searching the dining room. He smiles at what he sees.

"So, was that hookup with _him_ , or him and his wife?" Kurt asks, watching as the stalker is joined by a beautiful blonde wearing a vintage Gucci dinner dress.

The hazel-eyed stranger scoffs without turning around.

"Probably his beard," he replies confidently.

Kurt looks again, and this time, he laughs out loud.

"Then how do you explain the six-year-old?"

The man's hazel eyes widen. He throws a look over his shoulder at the couple and their little girl getting a table on the other side of the restaurant.

"Shoot," he mutters, turning back to Kurt with a wolfish smile on his face. He raises his hands in defeat. "You caught me. Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not hiding from anyone. I saw you sitting here alone and I wanted to meet you."

"Ahhh," Kurt says, but indulges in a better look at the handsome interloper seated beside him. The hazel eyes, dark and shimmering with the reflection of his smile, seem much more honest now, but his grin still carries a hint of mischief to it.

"Blaine Anderson." The man offers Kurt his hand as well as his name. Kurt looks at the hand extended his way - perfectly manicured fingernails, a gold Rolex on his wrist, and Harry Winston Ocean cuff links all scream rich, pretentious, and high maintenance.

Kurt stares at him, lips pressed together. He raises a challenging eyebrow at this enigmatic man.

"Come on," Blaine begs, inching closer. "Won't you at least tell me your name?"

Kurt narrows his eyes at Blaine, trying to calculate the risk of letting this man into his private bubble, even if only a hair. Kurt doesn't know exactly what Blaine's true intentions are, but he seems relatively harmless. Kurt has spent too much time playing things safe - the dreams he didn't pursue, the plans he had made and backed out on, they all lie behind him in a trail of the things his life should have been. He can't keep giving in to fear – not anymore. He decides to take a chance. Besides, dating this guy is definitely not an option, all things considered, so why not at least give him a name?

"Kurt," he says, taking Blaine's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Kurt Hummel."

"Well, Kurt Hummel, can I invite you to …?"

The kitchen doors bang open, cutting into Blaine's question. A small garrison of waiters rolling carts wheel into the dining room, heading straight for Kurt's table. Kurt's face grows unnaturally red, but he fights the sudden onrush of color as best he can while dish after dish is piled onto his table, garnering the attention of every person in the restaurant – customers, staff, and all.

"I … I'm sorry," Blaine says, his grin dissolving. "I didn't know you were already here with someone … or possibly your family … friends … maybe even everyone you've ever met. I'll …"

Blaine stands from his seat, but Kurt reaches out and grabs his arm.

"Would you like to join me for dinner? As you can see, I may have over ordered a tad," Kurt says, trying to deflect his own embarrassment through humor. Blaine watches the last waiter give up trying to find an empty space to put more dishes and leaves his cart beside Kurt's table. With the army of waiters gone, the eyes of the entire dining room are pinned on Kurt and his colossal meal.

"Sure," Blaine says, sitting back down. "Why not? I haven't eaten in about three and a half weeks."

Kurt chuckles, handing Blaine a set of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. "I don't stand on ceremony. Dig in."

Blaine unwraps his silverware, looking Kurt over curiously. He’s bowed his head, his hands folded in front of his face with his eyes closed, whispering something against his skin.

"Do you say grace before every meal?" Blaine asks when Kurt opens his eyes.

Kurt's brow knits at the question. "I wasn't praying," he says, his tone laced with bitterness.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's … it’s alright." Kurt reaches for an empty plate and serves himself a portion of Cassoulet. " _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to sound testy, but I don't believe in God. It’s kind of a sore subject for me."

"So, what were you …?"

"I was saying hi to my mom and dad." Kurt shrugs. "It's a thing I do on Fridays. It used to be tradition to eat Friday dinners together as a family. That way, no matter what happened during the week, we were guaranteed at least one night together."

Blaine smiles as he reaches for an empty plate. "That sounds nice," he says. "We didn't have anything like that in my house growing up." Blaine looks at the dishes on the table, trying to decide between the baked Camembert or the Hachis Parmentier. Kurt watches Blaine deliberate, then makes the decision for him, scooping him a generous portion of each.

"Didn't you eat dinner with your parents?" Kurt asks. Blaine puts his plate down in front of him, digging into the succulent meat with his fork.

"Not if my older brother could help it. He didn’t really do _the family thing_." He puts the first bite into his mouth and lets it melt onto his tongue. He closes his eyes and, with lips locked tight around his food, moans in the back of his throat. The sound immediately attracts Kurt's attention.

His whole body’s attention, too.

"God, Kurt! You definitely know how to order a meal!"

"W-well I ordered everything on the menu." Kurt stammers, but recovers quickly. "I had more than a fair chance of getting something good."

"That's another thing" - Blaine opens his eyes, barely catching Kurt staring as he swiftly switches his focus to his own food - "why the big meal?"

Kurt watches Blaine devour another bite with the same favorable reaction – his eyes closing, his mouth working slowly, savoring every bite.

"I'm learning how to throw caution to the wind," Kurt explains when he can find a voice to speak. Thankfully, it resembles his own.

Blaine opens his eyes at Kurt's answer. This time, Kurt doesn't turn away. Blaine's eyes twinkle in the light of the candles lit all around the room. His smile grows wider, more playfully mischievous.

"Then we're going to need some wine," Blaine says, raising a hand to summon a waiter. "Some really good wine." He winks at Kurt's bemused expression. " _Expensive_ wine. And I'm buying."

* * *

 

Blaine and Kurt spend the night eating and drinking, but most of all talking - about their childhoods, about their jobs, about the schools they attended, the places they've traveled (though Blaine's list is considerably longer than Kurt's), their favorite pets, where they want to retire. After only about a tenth of the food is eaten and a bottle of Chateau Latour 1955 polished off, Kurt is certain – absolutely and undeniably certain – that he's falling in love. Not simply infatuation or lust - though both of those emotions could easily abound around a man like Blaine - but honest to goodness, picking out China patterns and wondering what their children will look like love.

The night starts to come to a close, and Kurt hasn't even begun to exhaust all the ways in which he wants to know Blaine. So many questions come up after another one gets answered. He's such an interesting man, an exciting man, and Kurt is overwhelmed by him. But it's getting late. The restaurant is empty and the maître de has been hovering in the doorway for hours giving them stink eye, waiting for Kurt and Blaine to call it a night. The conversation wanes, and Kurt can tell by the look in Blaine's eye that he's hoping for more, but Kurt isn't ready, regardless of his epiphany.

Blaine senses Kurt's apprehension. He doesn't want to ruin a perfect evening by forcing Kurt to come up with a way to let him down easy. He takes Kurt's hand, holding it in both of his, and rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles.

"What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?" Blaine asks.

"Don't you mean _today_?" Kurt jokes. Blaine shakes his head.

"Okay, _Mr. Specific_ , what are you doing in, say, four or five hours?"

"What did you have in mind?" Kurt asks, trying his hand at flirting, wincing internally at how rusty he's become over the years.

"Well, I figured we could order absolutely everything on the menu _again_ , my treat, but let's eat it on my private patio. I have an incredible view. It's definitely worth looking at, especially at sunrise."

Blaine chews on his inner cheek as Kurt considers, watching Kurt's mind working through the clear blue of his eyes. Kurt bounces his head back and forth, prolonging Blaine's torture as he waits for an answer, praying for a _yes_.

"Okay," Kurt says. "I'll have breakfast with you. That sounds lovely."

"Great!" Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand, torn between pulling Kurt closer and kissing him, or maybe just giving him a hug. In the end, he lifts Kurt's hand to his mouth and kisses it, letting his lips linger against the soft skin, breathing in deep, reluctant to let go.

Kurt gasps at the delicate press of Blaine's lips against his skin, absorbing it into every nerve. It bounces around his body until it settles in his heart, causing the suffering thing to race, pounding in his rib cage like a tribal drum.

It takes Blaine three tries to convince himself to stand from his chair and back away, holding Kurt's hand until the last possible second when Kurt's fingers slip from his grasp. Blaine's smile is muted, tired, but it excites Kurt with its warmth and promise.

"I'm in 23," Blaine says.

"23," Kurt repeats, not mentioning that Blaine's room is not that far from his own – though that's probably already assumed in a hotel with only 25 rooms.

Kurt watches Blaine walk away, grinning till his cheeks hurt at the thought of seeing him again … and in only a few hours. How is he going to get to sleep? He won't. It's impossible.

While the waiters pack up his food and send it ahead to his room, he daydreams of the possibilities. Blaine mentioned during their conversation over dinner that he works in New York. If things work out between them, their vacation romance (if it turns into that) doesn't necessarily have to end with this trip. They could go home and date and fall in love and be a real couple.

Kurt looks at the plates spread out around him, the copy of  _Vogue Paris_  forgotten on the empty chair to the other side of him, the photograph of the beautiful little girl staring off into nowhere. All too quickly reality crashes in on him, and everything around him becomes a painful blur.

Kurt never put much weight in the idea of 'love at first sight'. He was sure after everything he'd been through that it didn't exist for him. And as depressing as the concept of never finding your one true love seems, he would be happier right now if he hadn't found a man who could possibly fit the bill so perfectly, so completely.

Because how do you tell someone you can realistically see spending the rest of your life with that you don't have much time left to live?

 


	2. Chapter 2

Snow had fallen overnight, making the landscape it covered look clean and unblemished. A blank slate. Beneath that layer of crystal beauty, the ground could be scarred or scorched by fire. It could be cracked and dry, or barren. Either way, coated in a new blanket of pristine snow, it glittered.

It looks _flawless_.

Kurt wishes it would work that way for him, that he could lay out in the gathering drift overnight and wake up reborn. He would rise from the snow replenished – his body and his heart changed, healed.

 _New_.

Only once does Kurt consider changing his mind, but that doesn’t last too long, trounced underfoot by his ridiculous romantic notions. He has come on this trip to experience everything he had put off for the future, everything that he’d promised himself he would do tomorrow, next week, a year from now. He’s going to let himself take this chance at having his heart stolen … and broken, if that’s the way this is meant to end.

Though he can’t imagine his heart breaking more than it already is. That’s his problem.

Kurt wanders down to Blaine’s room in basically his pajamas, only he’s exchanged his flannel sleep pants for a slightly warmer pair of knit lounge pants, and thrown a cream-colored cable knit sweater over the black Henley he wore to bed. It might not be his designer label suit from a few hours ago, but he doesn’t think Blaine will mind, seeing as it’s barely going on seven in the morning and it’s about 21 degrees outside. Kurt’s not sure how they’re going to eat on Blaine’s private patio in this weather, provided Blaine hasn’t forgotten. What if Blaine doesn’t remember that he invited him? He gave Kurt his room number, but they didn’t exchange phone numbers, and the phones in the rooms only call the front desk. No phones, no television, no Wifi. The hotel’s shtick includes the total disconnect from civilization that the wealthy dish out thousands a night for.

What if Blaine extended the invitation never expecting Kurt to show up? He seemed so sincere, but could that have been an act? What if this is a trick and Blaine was never a guest of this hotel in the first place? After all, they did sort of meet under false pretenses. What if he sent Kurt to the room of that man and his wife and daughter from the dining room, and is now miles away laughing over his sick joke?

Kurt’s doubts slow his steps as he approaches the door to 23, but a foot away from stopping and going back to his own room, the door opens. A much different looking Blaine Anderson peeks out, sees Kurt stopped in the hallway, and smiles. He beckons Kurt over with a wave of his hand, running the other through carefully tamed bedhead. Kurt is happy to see Blaine wearing a similar outfit to his own. In fact, with his own loose black knit pants and navy blue hoodie, the two of them could have ordered from the same catalogue.

“Oh, good. You’re here!” Blaine jogs out into the hallway barefoot and shivering, continuing to grin despite his teeth chattering. He takes Kurt’s hand and pulls him inside. “For a second, I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“My bad. I neglected to get your cell number.” Kurt follows Blaine into his room – his  _huge_  room - decorated the same as Kurt’s, using the same pomegranate and pale gold color palette, the same antique dark oak furniture, and the same mandatory provincial design elements, but nearly five times the size.

“I know.” Blaine chuckles, running his hand through his hair again, and Kurt bites the inside of his cheek, realizing he’s nervous. This flirty, gorgeous, obviously wealthy man is nervous over a breakfast date with _him_. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” The chuckles and giddy comments coalesce into an expectant silence, and Blaine and Kurt are left staring at one another, waiting for the easy conversation from dinner to continue. But the playing field has changed. They’re in Blaine’s suite, not the dining room, and they’re alone, with a tension building between them that could shatter glass.

Kurt thinks that if this were some kind of B-rate rom-com, they’d be rushing in for a kiss right about now.

“Oh! I ordered breakfast!” Blaine throws his arms wide in the direction of food. True to his word, Blaine ordered every item on the breakfast menu. He had it covered to keep it warm, waiting for Kurt to arrive. When Kurt takes his eyes off Blaine, he sees it immediately. He’s surprised that he missed it. Blaine had to have an extra table brought up from the dining room to hold all the plates. He must have placed the order the minute he returned to his room last night. Kurt can’t see any other way Blaine could have had this ready _this_ early in the morning otherwise.

It touches Kurt more than he’s willing to acknowledge out loud that Blaine would have this amount of faith that he would actually show.

“Well, let’s not wait around!” Blaine says with an emphatic clap. “I don’t know about you, but I’m _starving_!” His eyes drift to the patio outside, shuddering at the sight of snow piled against the door. “We can … uh … still sit out on the patio. There are some heaters out there. But unless we straddle them, it might be a wee bit cold.”

“Only a wee bit,” Kurt jokes, winding his arms around his torso, chilly even though the heat in Blaine’s room is going at full blast.

“I can pull a table and some chairs up against the glass doors if you prefer. You’ll still get the great view.”

“I think that sounds perfect,” Kurt says. “To be honest, I’m not sure I have the thigh muscles to straddle a heater for a prolonged period of time.”

Blaine’s smile widens, but Kurt can tell by the way his eyelids twitch that he’s fighting the urge to look down at Kurt’s legs and check for himself.

Blaine turns his head before he loses the fight. “I’ll set up the table and we can get started on breakfast. The smell of turkey sausage has been driving me out of my mind!”

“You could have started without me,” Kurt says, feeling guilty for taking so long, for almost giving in to his insecurities and backing out.

“Never.” Blaine grunts with the strain of pulling a heavy wood table from the dining area to the glass double doors of the patio. “The point was to have breakfast with  _you_. I was willing to wait.” Blaine winks at Kurt as he passes, struggling comically to drag the table across the floor since the thing seems dead-set on staying where it is.

Kurt watches Blaine and his heart swells, racing in his chest alarmingly fast, but Kurt likes it. He hasn’t been this excited over the prospect of doing anything since he checked in to this hotel, and this is only breakfast. Blaine takes Kurt by the elbow and leads him to the table, pulling up a chair for him to sit, and Kurt’s heart pounds faster.

“There you are.” Blaine gestures to the vista outside the glass. “Probably the best seat in the house.”

The view off the patio is _glorious_ , everything Blaine promised it would be – a glimpse of the snow-capped mountains unparalleled by any Kurt has seen so far. But Kurt looks at it for only a second before he turns his attention back to the man getting ready to serve him breakfast.

Kurt really should object to being waited on by this man. He should get up out of his chair and help. But when Blaine turns his back to Kurt and bends over the table to reach the plates, Kurt can’t see a single reason why he would want to move.

He does, however, see one incredible reason why he should consider this chair his new home and stay here for the remainder of his vacation.

 _Does this hotel have a gym?_ Kurt wonders as he stares gratuitously at Blaine’s lower back where his sweater has lifted revealing smooth, tan skin, and defined muscles. _He’d never bothered to check._

Blaine seems remarkably excited about eating breakfast with Kurt, which Kurt doesn’t entirely understand, but now that Kurt is here, now that the moment has arrived – a moment that he laid in bed all morning thinking about, barely closing his eyes for longer than twenty minutes at a stretch – he doesn’t think he can eat a bite. Which would suck since Blaine went to all this trouble. Kurt doesn’t want to offend him. Blaine starts uncovering platters, setting delicious smells free to circulate around the room, and Kurt’s stomach growls loudly.

 _Well, that answers that_ , Kurt thinks, subconsciously wrapping an arm around his waist in the hopes of muffling the sound.

Without even asking what he would like, Blaine piles two plates high with food and sets them in front of Kurt. He also takes a wild guess as to how Kurt takes his coffee, not quite getting it right, but Kurt doesn’t mind. This is the definition of a picture perfect morning – the serene mountain outside their window, flakes of snow lightly falling, whispers of a spiraling wind brushing against the patio doors, a handsome man serving him breakfast, and a feeling of complete freedom, no worries or expectations … and Kurt can’t keep his eyes open.

“Easy there, sweetheart.” Blaine stands from his chair and grabs Kurt’s shoulders as his head nods for the tenth time. “Or you’re going to have your face in the crepes again.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt laughs, taking a sip of the exceptionally strong Italian roast in his mug. “You must think I’m horrible company.”

“Not at all.” Blaine rearranges his chair and his plate to sit closer to Kurt, preparing to rescue him from face-planting in his waffles if the need arises. “But are you sure you’re okay? You look seriously exhausted.” Blaine tilts his head and gazes at Kurt with a hundred questions in his golden eyes.

“No worse than you,” Kurt comments, stifling a yawn. He tucks into a waffle smothered in crème fraiche and fruit, praying the jolt of sugar will help keep him awake.

“Yeah, but I didn’t almost pass out in my entrée.” Blaine frowns as he watches Kurt fumble his knife and fork. “Do you … would you rather do this another time?”

“No!” Kurt shoots a hand over his mouth to minimize the gross-factor of talking with his mouth full. He swallows his bite prematurely with an audible gulp, and Blaine snickers. “No,” he repeats. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good,” Blaine says, satisfied. “Glad to hear it. But … I have this feeling that there’s more than exhaustion going on with you.”

“Wh---why do you say that?” Kurt concentrates hard on cutting another piece off his food, hoping that whatever feeling Blaine has goes away.

“It kind of started last night.” Blaine’s jaw tightens, like he’d rather not be admitting to this. “Call it paranoia.” Kurt’s smile dims, his eyes dropping from his plate to the napkin in his lap. He puts down his knife and fork, his appetite gone. How come he’s always so frickin’ see-through? Like cellophane? Why can’t the things he wants to hide disappear because he says so? Blaine reaches out and puts a hand on Kurt’s knee tentatively, then rests his palm against it when Kurt doesn’t withdraw from his touch. Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s knee is warm – so warm. It penetrates the cold that’s come over him since he first heard his prognosis. “I know we only met about twelve hours ago, but I hope that you might feel comfortable confiding in me. You know, some things are easier to tell a stranger.”

Kurt sighs, already beat down by the conversation that’s about to follow. He had hoped to put this off for a day – one stinking day. He’d been living with his condition for a while before it became serious, beyond anything that his doctors could have predicted, but for most of his life he was labeled the sick kid – never offered the chance to try, never given the opportunity to turn something down before he was completely counted out. He always planned on overcoming that, to exact his revenge by becoming a proficient at practically everything. Since there’s obviously no hope of that happening, for once he just wanted to forget about it and be _normal_ , but that wasn’t going to happen, because he isn’t  _normal_. And denying it, hiding it away as a way to negate it, wouldn’t be fair to Blaine.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Kurt says. “You’ve been so nice and sweet, and I don’t know if you intended this to be a fly-by-night sort of thing for you or … but that doesn’t matter. I need to be honest.” Kurt stops. He takes a breath. He hangs on to his last moment of false normalcy for as long as he can. “I’m …”

“Pregnant?” Blaine leaps in to finish.

Kurt rolls his eyes, laughing even though the joke isn’t that funny. But it waylaid his momentum, and he’s too tired to stop giggling. “No.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Secretly engaged?”

“No.”

“Running from the law?”

“No.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, eyelids narrowing.

“Canadian?”

“No!”

Blaine shrugs, smiling that self-assured, cocky smile that’s a part of his mischievous charm. It makes Kurt weak. Too weak to keep quiet any longer.

“Then I can’t think of anything …”

“I’m dying.”

Blaine laughs once, a carryover from before, but when Kurt doesn’t join in, he stops.

“Wait … you’re … you’re serious?” Blaine scoots forward in his chair, folding his hands in his lap like he’s praying it isn’t true. “You’re  _dying_?”

Kurt looks at Blaine’s folded hands. It’s such a simple thing, a small gesture, but coupled with everything else Blaine has done this morning, it means so much.

“Yes,” Kurt says seriously. “I am.”

Blaine stares at Kurt, repeating, “Uh … um … uh …” caught with a question stuck in his mouth.

“I know what you want to ask” - Kurt folds the napkin in his lap - “and don’t worry. It’s not contagious. It’s my heart. It’s a really long, unpleasant story, and please forgive me if I don’t want to depress you with the details right now, but it ends with  _there’s really nothing that anyone can do_.”

Blaine shakes his head. “That’s not what I was …” Blaine can’t seem to finish the sentence, something more important pressing on his mind. “H---how long?”

“Not long enough.”

Blaine’s head shake turns into a nod until he looks confused as to whether he’s agreeing with Kurt or not, and what about, Kurt doesn’t know. “Y--you know what?” Blaine stands abruptly from his seat. “I think … I think that maybe  _I’m_  a bit exhausted.” He chuckles. It sounds hollow and sad. Kurt understands. “I think … I think I really need to take a nap, so …”

“I … I get it.” Kurt stands along with him, crumpling up his napkin and dropping it on the table. Thank goodness Blaine’s curiosity forced him to be upfront about this. How awkward would it have been a week from now, or a few months from now, if this had gone that far? If Kurt had _made it_ that far? “I’m sorry. I … I’ll just go …”

“What?” Blaine heads Kurt off before he starts for the door. “Wait? Where are you going?”

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s confusion. “I’m going back to my room. You don’t have to explain.”

“Apparently, I do.” Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand. “I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted, and I think we could both use a nap, so …”

“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“But I don’t want you to go.”

Kurt’s face takes over Blaine’s look of confusion. “But … but I just told you …”

“That you’re dying, I know, I heard,” Blaine says with a heavy sigh.

“Right,” Kurt agrees, his confusion growing as Blaine pulls him toward the next room – the bedroom.

“And that’s a little bit much for me to process with my head spinning like a top,” Blaine continues, climbing onto the bed and tugging Kurt down toward him, “so I thought we should take a nap and talk about it more when we wake up.”

Kurt surprises himself by following, by not doing the intelligent thing and stopping before it’s too late. Though, if he was smart, he would have told Blaine to leave at dinner, so apparently he’s not as bright as he gives himself credit for.

“Are you … but I … I don’t understand.” For all his arguing, Kurt doesn’t stop following Blaine as he pulls the comforter down and climbs underneath. “Does this mean … do you still want to see me?”

Blaine chuckles again, the same tired, hollow sound as before, as he wraps the comforter around Kurt’s body and pulls him close.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” Blaine yawns as his head hits the pillow.

“Did you miss the part where there’s no treatment for what I have? No cure?” Kurt asks, a little worn and a _lot_ bitter. But what was he doing? He usually tries to let people know that he’s not a threat, that they can be his friend, that he won’t up and die on them mid-sentence (not that that’s a promise he can keep). He’s always trying to reassure people who keep their distance from him. Now here comes a man who  _wants_  to be with him, and he’s turning him away?

“Yeah. It was subtle, but I caught that.” Blaine curls toward Kurt’s body. “Did you miss the part where I have you wrapped up in my arms and I’m trying to take a nap?”

Kurt sighs, not sure if he’s frustrated or flattered by Blaine’s apparent temporary lack of concern. “Blaine …”

“Kurt, I promise we’ll talk about this first thing when we wake up. But for right now, please …”

Kurt turns in Blaine’s arms to face him, intent on arguing the matter further, but Blaine’s eyes are closed, and he’s already breathing softly. Kurt stares in disbelief. But what can he do? He’s exactly in the position he had hoped to someday be in – lying in bed beside a handsome man who seems willing to stay with him despite the time he doesn’t have left.

And he did say he wanted to experience everything, including having his heart stolen and/or broken.

It was already broken. Now it’s definitely stolen.

“Alright,” he whispers, awestruck by the crazy direction this took and how quickly it got there. “When we wake up, Blaine. First thing.”

Kurt turns back around and settles in against him, closes his eyes, and the world instantly goes dark.

 


End file.
